Page 47 of The One I Need
“Of course you will. A good teacher never forgets her kids, no matter how many classes go through.”
She would know. The woman taught for thirty-five years and can’t go anywhere in Rolling Hills without a former student stopping her to say hello. I think she’s been invited to every Rolling Hills class reunion, and she’s attended most of them. She was invited to my class reunion, which she declined because she said I didn’t need my mother there. So instead we all moved the party to her house and camped in her front yard.
It was worth it. She made us pancakes the next morning.
“I must admit, I’m kind of surprised you called,” I say. “Aren’t you in Missouri or something right now?”
“We are,” she says. “We pit-stopped for the day. Carol needed a day out of the car. But then we’re heading for Oklahoma. Reba Museum, here we come!”
I can’t help but laugh as I weave in and out of traffic. My Aunt Carol has been my mom’s best friend since childhood. She helped raise me. I’m pretty sure she taught me my first swear word. I can’t imagine my life without her. Or my mom’s.
Neither of them ever got married, and for years called themselves Thelma and Louise. So for the past year, they’ve been planning a summer road trip on Route 66, with a few detours along the way. They were going to go see the sights, some shows, an exhibit of Reba McIntyre in her hometown—not a whole museum like she keeps saying it is—and maybe pick up a young version of Brad Pitt along the way.
“Well, I’m glad you two are having a good time. And actually, I’m about to go on a trip myself.”
“Really? Are you and Simon going somewhere?”
“No, actually. Her name is Izzy, and we’re going to Vegas.”
The line is silent for more than a few seconds. I don’t even hear her breathing. I also realize that, for the first time, I’m telling someone in my circle about Izzy. But it’s my mom, and she should know. You know, in case I’m kidnapped and she needs to be briefed about my whereabouts and who I was with.
“Mom? Are you there?”
I hear a breath, which is good. I was scared for a second.
“Oliver, you always promised me that when you got married, I’d be there. I don’t care if you elope, but I want to be there when my only child gets married.”
“Mom, I’m not getting married.” Why does everyone think that?
“Sure you aren’t, sweetie.”
Well if that wasn’t Southern mama ridicule, I don’t know what is.
“I’m not. We’ve been hanging out for a few months. She’s going for a work conference, and I’m tagging along. That’s it.”
“Is it?” she asks. “Oliver, I love you. But you’ve never beenjust friendswith a woman.”
“That’s a lie. I have Amelia.”
“I love Amelia, but she doesn’t count.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve never wanted to sleep with Amelia.”
“And how do you know I want to sleep with Izzy?”
I can’t see my mother right now, but I can picture her face. Eyebrows up, gaze serious, head tilted. “Do you not want to?”
I start to answer, but quickly stop.
Do I? Obviously I did. Now I don’t. But do I? If Izzy said this weekend, “Hey, I was wrong. Let’s try this?” Would I?
Oh, who am I kidding? Of course I would.
“Fine,” I admit. “But she has been clear that things are going to stay just friends between us. And I’m okay with that.”
“You’re sure?”
